


wooden't it be nice

by kaermorons



Series: Treefucker Geralt [1]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: I mean it's tentacle-adjacent, Kinktober 2020, Other, Oviposition, Passes the Harkness Test, Tentacle Sex, Treefucker Geralt, sentient trees
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-02
Updated: 2020-10-02
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:13:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26777917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaermorons/pseuds/kaermorons
Summary: Geralt somehow manages to give a tree sentience, and then does the obvious thing and lets that tree fuck him.Written for Kinktober Day 2: Ovipositing
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Tree
Series: Treefucker Geralt [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1962697
Comments: 34
Kudos: 137
Collections: Witcher Kinktober Ring





	wooden't it be nice

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first of 10 solo prompts for Kinktober 2020! The other 21 prompts I've shared with my good friends [fishie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/what_about_the_fish/pseuds/what_about_the_fish) and [anarchycox](https://archiveofourown.org/users/anarchycox/pseuds/AC-DD) (link to her kinktober pseud). Make sure to keep an eye on the collection this fic is posted in for all 31 of our Kinktober fics!! <3
> 
> See you again on Monday.

It used to be just a regular tree.

Geralt would pass by it on his near-daily walks around the keep; his schedule kept irregular between drills and classes and meals. He had nothing real to compare Kaer Morhen to, but he and the other trainees had a fair amount of time to themselves for what it was worth. Of course, he had friends though the trainers discouraged the practice, ominously intoning about how many of them would be lost to the Trials, to their first year on the Path, to their  _ second _ year on the Path. Still, the trainees decided time passed by a lot easier when they could joke about it.

Geralt did like that time to himself, though.

His walks allowed him the chance to clear his head, let him recollect, and absorb the day’s lessons. He wanted to be a good Witcher, the best there ever was. He had to meditate deeper, reach further and hit harder than everyone else, and he had to get used to walking the Path alone someday.

It was also because no one with the eyes of a hawk or the ears of a fox could hear him stripping his cock raw in the forest outside the keep.

The tree was nice and big, and must have been nearly as old as the keep itself - and Eskel said Kaer Morhen was at least four hundred years old, though Geralt didn’t believe that for a second. He hadn’t seen many trees in his thirteen-odd years of life, but this tree looked noticeably different than the others around it. He’d heard tales of the fae weaving trees out of the ground like how Master Bonheim could spin yarn out of a clump of fiber, and that where a forest lay perfect, in the fae realm just  _ beyond, _ tricksters were waiting to take you prisoner.

Yeah, well, Geralt didn’t think there was much of a place worse to be taken to but Kaer Morhen, or at least that’s what some of the other trainees have said before. Because of that, he didn’t fear the beautiful, twisted tree reaching up into the sky. Upon closer look, it looked to be several trees twisted in one, like the corded look of rough rope. He spent some time in the library researching what kind of tree it could be, but its leaves ranged in shape and size and color from the thin leaves of willow to broad-leafed maple to the teardrop-shaped birch. Its bark, too, went from a deep cherry red to a stark white, and it only looked beautiful up close. It was a bit of an embarrassing mess from about seven paces back, making it a good hiding spot. Geralt liked to sit upon the thick, swollen roots that hadn’t entirely made it into the ground, in a small, Geralt-sized gap that made him forget he was supposed to be going into the Trials soon.

The safety and temporary isolation of the place allowed him to take himself in hand without hesitation many  _ many _ times over the years. When he just didn’t feel like it, learning about a dark history or an anecdote from another instructor that hadn’t ended happily ever after, he would talk.

The tree, of course, had no ears, but it heard each word all the same. It had caught each of Geralt’s tears that he could still cry, and absorbed his seed into the very heart of it, for trees do have hearts. Geralt always felt lighter, walking out of his wooden sanctuary, and knew the steps there and back by blind, deaf, and in the rain.

And then the Trials started. It was agony to go outside in the direct sunlight, but the instructors and mages wouldn’t leave him  _ alone _ for five  _ damned _ minutes, so he had to visit the tree at night alone. His feet carried him surely through the early fall drizzle, not enough to cause him to slip and fall, but definitely enough to make sure he didn’t dawdle.

His enhanced eyesight let him see new details on the tree he hadn’t before, feel and understand new parts of the bark that had kept him sane all these years. “I suppose I’ve never thanked you,” Geralt said gently, his soft whisper still grating to his overly sensitive ears. “All I could think of was  _ gods; I hope the tree is okay, _ whenever I could think in enough words, you know. Um. Malik died.” Geralt swallowed roughly. “Jonah. Yonah, too. Least they’re, um. Together. I guess.” Geralt shook with grief, even saying the names of his friends, his cohorts, was more challenging than seeing them get pulled off their tables, limp as rags. “Eskel made it. Renee, too. Sal. Um. He might not make the night, but. They tell me he can’t feel it, so.” Geralt sniffles again. “Fuck, this is hard, huh.”

The tree said nothing.

“Fucking talking to a tree. Can’t even talk back to me. Might as well just get this over with then, huh.”

It took him a bit longer than usual to pull his traditional three orgasms out, what with the grief, but Geralt managed, spilling onto the base of the tree, leaning against it and hiding in on himself. Already, his muscles were too big to let him into his little cage again. Each time he came, he groaned, marking up the earth with his scent. He shuddered a little, breathing hard by the end, but feeling the same lightness he always did when attending to business at the tree.

As he walked away, though, something curious happened. His seed, so tainted by the poison that had taken his friends, by the magic that could not save them, seeped deep into the earth, in the six-tree roots tangled in the soil, and fed the tree something it hadn’t had before:

Magic.

Geralt went back to the tree every night after, the heightened sensations all across his skin just a bit too much for him to  _ not _ take himself in hand over. Each time, Geralt would speak softly to the tree, as a friend, a close confidant, and give the tree more magic, feeding it chaos until something truly chaotic came of it.

The tree already had a heart, but now it had a mind of its own. It could  _ feel _ with its roots, deep into the earth, and up above, into its sky-roots. It could hear and protect the family of bluejays in its boughs, and shake out any unwanted creatures whenever it wanted. The tree was soon able to gracelessly bend its branches against the wind, down below, even lift from the ground if it wanted.

So wrapped up in the delight of its newfound sentience, the tree wondered somewhat guiltily that the boy he’d learned guilt  _ from _ hadn’t visited in a while. Of course, the tree was saddened by this. Had the boy died? The tree fearfully wondered if the boy had gone the same route as the other sorrow-tinged names he’d said before.

Of course, by the time the tree had fully-formed this thought (you must understand, it takes a long time for any tree to think things over, which is why they never respond when you ask one a question), the boy was coming back over the ridge! But he looked...different.

His hair had been curly, chestnut brown; the tree saw without eyes that it was now white, and wild where it had been at least tamed before. His eyes still bore the same beast-like slits as they always had, at least in the tree’s memory, and he was bigger, stronger. The weight he sat down with on the tree’s roots was considerably heavier, though the tree didn’t mind. The tree was just happy the boy was back! The tree supposed he would be a  _ man _ now, a  _ Witcher _ judging by how the boy’s trunks and branches were able to reach up higher now.

Geralt didn’t pay any notice to the tree’s frenzied speculation on his appearance now, though, because he was too busy putting his head in his hands and groaning. “I’ve had a headache for a week straight,” he groaned. “Can’t even sleep without the pain entering my dreams.”

The tree would have frowned, had it been able to.

“Lost Renee. Just me and Eskel now. Oh, right, Sal didn’t make it. God, that was months ago, how long has it been? No wonder I haven’t been able to concentrate or sleep.”

He undid his trousers swiftly, walking around behind the tree, hiding behind its form. The tree minutely bent its branches to shield its Witcher. He spat on his hand, and the tree noted he seemed to like it best when that branch was wet.  _ Interesting, _ the tree thought, getting to the last syllable by the time Geralt spilled over the roots again. The tree shivered a little at the sudden rush of magic through its branches. Geralt groaned, leaning harder against the tree now, unaware of the exchange.

The tree would take his weight. It always would. The tree wanted to say as much to the man, but he was already walking away, a tired slouch to his shoulders.

It was many seasons before the tree saw Geralt again.

Then, as the tree was ready to settle in for a long winter nap, it heard a familiar crunch of boots over snow, walking nearer. The tree shook the sleep from its vision and peered closer - was that - ?

It was!!

“Hello again,” the man said. “I’m back from the Path. Been away for a few years. Glad to see no one cut you down.” The tree had been practicing nearly every fall, as the Witchers returned to Kaer Morhen. One branch twisted down from above and gracelessly patted it’s man’s arm. The man stood stiffly, now, defensive and spooked.

_ Oh. This isn’t a thing trees do, then. _

The tree immediately put the errant branch up to its regular position and tried to remain still and as tree-like as possible, which was quite a lot. Of course, the Witcher wasn’t quite looking away and was holding onto something around its neck.

“You’re magic?” Geralt asked, feeling the vibrations in his medallion pulse to a more natural level. Of course, the tree didn’t answer because it was a tree, but Geralt put a hand on its trunk and closed his eyes.

_ There. _ He could feel the power thrumming through his palm, warming his skin from the inside out. “Don’t know how I didn’t see it before.” The tree also didn’t know this. “I’m...I’ll be back to see you again, I promise. I’ve got chores, but. Yeah, don’t go anywh...yeah, I’m stupid, whatever.”

The tree was a little miffed it had missed out on getting some more quality time with the man, but he promised to return, so the tree would wait patiently. Winter would be interesting that year.

And it was. The man -  _ Geralt, _ as he re-introduced himself much later - said he’d been asking questions around the keep, reading up on magic trees, and had determined the tree’s roots had stretched down to what he called a “bathhouse” and created a “cavern.” The tree had no idea. Even thinking about it seemed to take too much time. But watching Geralt pace back and forth in front of it, the tree listened and nodded where it thought Geralt needed a nod.

Geralt was always delighted when the tree moved. It still warmed the tree to its heart.

And even then, Geralt couldn’t entirely stop jerking off onto the tree, having read about the volatility of  _ substances _ from magic-imbued  _ creatures. _ Yes, well, the tree could have told him that.

The tree grew much stronger.

They had the entire winter together, every few days, whenever he can be free to say hello. Of course, the tree had no schedule to uphold, no social arrangements to keep. There was only Geralt, and the new family of grackles that wouldn’t  _ shut up _ about how  _ great _ it was to fuck in the boughs.

It took the tree several days to realize it wanted to fuck in the boughs, too. Oh, and it thought about it a  _ lot. _

As the snow thawed that spring, the tree wondered which visit would be the last, when Geralt would go out on the Path again. The day finally came one brisk spring morning, a few minutes after dawn. Geralt came strolling down over the ridge and dropped quite a few packs. “Well, this is it. I have to go again.”

The tree visibly slumped, reaching out for Geralt with its branches. Geralt had become used to the tree’s clingy behavior, and it had even tried to  _ help _ when he came out here for his daily ritual. Geralt was feeling the confidence of any Witcher, ready to go back on the Path after a long winter kept (mostly) indoors. He let the tree grab hold of him, pulling him closer to its bark, to the thrum of magic it housed in its trunks. Geralt hugged the tree back, gently stroking the smooth patch of birch wood he had under his hand. They were friends, though mostly one-sided. That was odd, for Geralt, to be the one talking in the relationship.

The tree needed to change that, right now, apparently. With a groan in its treetops, the tree managed to croak one word, clear enough for Geralt to hear and understand.

_ “Seed?” _

Geralt pulled back, looking at the tree all over, trying to find the source of the noise, but there was no one around for miles, and the tree certainly didn’t  _ look _ like it had grown a mouth in the three days Geralt had been away. “Seed? You...you want me to…?”

The tree shifted jerkily.  _ No. _

“But you don’t have a—” Geralt cut himself off when another branch, hidden behind another side of the tree from him, came forward. Oh yes, the tree had been thinking so hard and long about fucking, about fucking  _ Geralt, _ that it had grown a  _ new _ type of branch, just for him. It was smooth because the tree knew Geralt liked the soft parts of it best. It was vaguely shaped like a vine, with a willow’s bendiness, but the same pink color as its cherry-red trunk. And because the tree knew Geralt so well, it was already wet, dripping with a slightly shimmery substance Geralt couldn’t look away from.

As if entranced, Geralt reached a hand out, wrapping around the branch, and sending another shiver of feeling through the whole tree.

“You want to seed...me?”

The tree gave another shiver, one that made Geralt’s palms prickle with warmth. With effort, the tree wrapped its branches down and around Geralt’s waist, hoisting him up to the top crown of boughs, knitted together to make a good imitation of the bluejay’s nest. Geralt blinked in surprise but went willingly, looking around in awe, so much it makes the tree preen and burst some cherry blossoms open all around the nest.

“Well, I uh, don’t know how we’re going to do this, but— _ oh,  _ that works. That works too.” Geralt propped himself up on his elbows, watching as that thicker, more flexible branch came to rub against his growing erection. He gave a soft shudder and smiled. “You’ll keep me warm?” His hands waited at the laces of his trousers, ready to remove them at the first sure sign of encouragement. The tree copied Geralt’s nod before trying to get into Geralt’s pants itself.

“Whoa, let me…” Geralt rucked down his pants til they were below his knees, caught up in his boots, and preventing him from going any further. The tree didn’t mind, though, the tendril moving to—

Geralt gave a shout of surprise when the dripping branch seemed to swallow his whole cock down, a firm and constant  _ sucking _ pressure from all sides. He scrabbled at the nest around them and gaped openly as two more tendrils came through the small opening. “Uh, I only have one of those, I’m…” Geralt’s confused babbling was cut off by an exceptionally  _ wet _ sounding slurp from the branch around his dick. “Are you gonna—?” he gasped.

Of course, the tree thought talk was cheap at a time like this, and instead maneuvered Geralt onto his hands and knees, where it wanted him. One of the thinner tendrils comes up by his mouth, pressing the wet tip against his lips like a kiss. Geralt decided, in for a copper, in for a crown, and went for it, tonguing against the slit as his dick was sucked beneath him. He moaned long and loud when another few thin vines spread his ass apart, the wet head of another dripping branch prodding at his entrance.

The vine at his mouth took the chance to dive in, pushing in and out with nothing more than animal instinct, the pace it had picked up from Geralt all those years ago. Luckily, life at Kaer Morhen hadn’t been celibate in the least and knew his part to play.

The prodding at his hole turned more insistent, then, breaching him almost roughly before he made a sharp whine of discomfort. Instantly, two dozen soft vines petted his sides, gentle and apologetic. Geralt gave another hearty suck to the branch in his mouth, the fluid tasting fresh, like springtime and clear skies. He moaned around it when those smaller vines pressed into him, pulsing him open in a rhythmic stretch. The vines wasted no time in finding and abusing his prostate, wrenching the first of many orgasms out of him like a punch to the gut.

The taste of Geralt’s come immediately doubled the tree’s efforts, spurring it forward to get him stretched faster, wetter, feeling better. Two more sucking tendrils pushed up under Geralt’s shirt, finding his nipples and latching on. He nearly howled at the oversensitivity, but the push of something  _ big _ at his ass distracted him quickly enough.

He was a raw nerve, whining in the back of his throat as a much thicker branch pushed into him, splitting him open and forcing some of that spring-tasting fluid back out of him again. It moved slowly, getting him used to it, but his eyes still rolled hard and wild like an overexerted horse.

The branch fucked into him, in and out and so  _ thick _ it’s like the tree wanted to take up residence in his ass. He was sure he was going to be gaping after this, no matter how long he stayed impaled on the tree. It filled him up like no one else ever had in training and drove him half-mad by the magic pulsing into his body. It felt like that first time, barely enough prep and hardly enough oil for it to feel good, but this left that memory in the dust. The tree was  _ owning _ him from the inside out, leaving dark bruises sucked all over his body. The wet heat around his cock only grew hotter as he grew used to the intrusion at both ends. How long would it take for the tree to grow tired of his fucked-out body? How many  _ seeds _ would it plant in his guts?

The thought of carrying the little saplings inside of him shouldn’t have been such an erotic thought, but it made him come hard all the same. He had tears already streaking down his cheeks, overwhelmed by the sensation, his eyes unseeing except for the length of vine curling out of his mouth. It nearly gagged him as it sought to press deeper, taking more of his body than before, and he felt short on air a few times.

Time moved differently, speared on the tree at several ends. He was half-sure the tree was wrapping the nest tighter around him, cocooning him and keeping him safe, but that could have been delirium setting in. Orgasm after mind-shattering orgasm was stolen through his body, and after the sixth or so, he felt the nest  _ shake. _

He wondered for a half-second what the tree was trying to tell him, but the growing  _ press _ at his ass answered for him: it was time to seed him up. He whined needily, writhing violently away, toward, he couldn’t decide.

One after another, six large seeds, thankfully smooth and each about half the size of his fist, pushed up into his ass, leaving them as deep as possible -  _ so he’d catch, _ his crazed mind provided. He shouted as the seeds weren’t the only thing filling him up, after a moment. The insistent pressure and overwhelming  _ green _ smell told him that the tree must have found its own release, spraying his insides with that same fluid he had been drinking down this entire time. He groaned at the fullness, the new heavy weight inside him, leaving his middle  _ bulging. _

The other tendrils slipped off of him to poke and prod curiously at his distended belly, three fists’ worth of seed, and—“Why aren’t I dripping?” Geralt groaned hoarsely, bending his head to try and see. He touched one shaking hand to his ass, puffy and hot and raw, and felt a thick secretion holding the seed - both kinds - inside of him. “This better not kill me,” he grumbled, rolling onto his side to catch his breath.

As he rested from their activities, the tree gently pulled his pants back up, fiddling with the laces unhelpfully before Geralt swatted them away. He pressed a kiss to a nearby tendril in apology and tried sitting up.

Bad idea.

He groaned and held his middle. He figured it would have been quite rude to ask to get the seeds out of him  _ right now, _ so he’d at least have to bite his tongue until he was down the mountain. The tree brought his body back down from the boughs, and he watched in fascination as the nest unwove from its almost solid state, fanning out into happy, green branches like what they’d done had never happened.

He felt the magic pulse again under his fingertips as he brushed them over the tangled trunks beside him. He caught his balance, steadying his feet underneath him as he got used to the feeling of fullness he’d have to deal with for at least another few hours.

“I should be back in the autumn,” he told the tree. “Most Witchers don’t survive their first few years on the Path.” The tree gave an unhappy creak, its branches shivering though there was no wind. “I’ll try my best, though. Coming home is a privilege surviving Witchers share. I hope to share it again with you.”

The tree caressed his face gently and bade him farewell, returning to the proud, reaching stance it always had. Geralt gave it one last look, shouldered his swords and his pack, and left.

About four hours later than Geralt had expected, he finally was able to... _ expel _ the seeds, just off the road, in a little dirt ditch.

With the excitement of going and seeing the rest of the world ahead, he hardly thought of the magic tree at Kaer Morhen, but when he came back in the last stretch of autumn to find a large, six-trunk tree growing out of the ground and  _ waving at him, _ he flushed scarlet.

He said hello to his child and rode the rest of the way home.

**Author's Note:**

> Come yell at me about the tree on [tumblr](https://kaermorons.tumblr.com/).


End file.
